Page 8 of Lavender and Honey

Elias reached out, his fingers brushing against the tubes before selecting a Prussian Blue with a nod of satisfaction. "This one's perfect," he murmured, almost to himself, and then added a Burnt Amber to his growing collection. I couldn't help but watch him, my gaze lingering a little longer than necessary. There was a grace to his movements, a certainty that seemed to come from knowing exactly who he was and where he belonged. Even as an Omega, he carried an air of self-assuredness that made it seem as though he was entirely comfortable in his own skin.

"This should do," he announced, as we walked back to the register, setting down his selections with a gentle thud against the wooden surface. My fingers moved across the register, punching in numbers with practiced ease as I avoided direct eye contact. But a subtle shift in his demeanor snagged my attention; his gaze had dropped to my neck, and there was a slight hitch in the smoothness of his expression.

I tensed, a prickling awareness crawling up my spine. Instinctively, my hand fluttered to my throat, fingertips brushing against the tender area where the scent blockers had done their silent, oppressive work. The faint red flush that spread across my glands was a telltale sign of irritation— an all too familiar result of my relentless need for concealment. It must have worsened over the day, the discomfort growing just enough to become visible to anyone who looked closely. And Elias had looked closely.

"Your total comes to thirty-seven fifty," I said, my voice measured, betraying none of the sudden vulnerability I felt under his observant eyes. There was no escaping the fact that Elias had noticed— something I had dreaded, especially from someone who embodied the very essence of what I had been trying to avoid. The acknowledgment of my Omega nature, even in something as small as this, felt like a crack in the meticulously maintained facade I presented to the world.

"That looks painful," he murmured, the heat of his gaze making me turn my eyes down and not wanting to see the sympathy that was probably there.

"It's fine," I said, too fast, too clipped. The words were my armor, deflecting concern as I shoved them out into the space that had grown heavy with Elias's silence. "Just from wearing the cream too much."

The shop's air seemed to still, when I finally dared to look up, Elias was watching me, his hazel eyes steady. I braced for sympathy, for the gentle coaxing he was known for, but none came. Instead, there was a quiet recognition, an unspoken acknowledgment of shared experiences that went beyond words. His understanding felt like an intrusion, an unwelcome peeling back of layers I kept meticulously in place.

"Your total is thirty-seven fifty," I repeated, forcing my voice to remain even as I extended my hand for payment, desperateto regain some semblance of normalcy. He reached for his wallet, and the simple gesture seemed to span miles of silence. I watched his fingers, slender yet strong, as they withdrew a few crisp bills. The ease in his movements contrasted sharply with the tight knot of anxiety that had formed in my stomach.

"Lydia," he began, and even his voice seemed soft as I put his purchase in a bag, "You know," he continued, pausing as if to choose his words with care, "there are other ways to manage it." The silence hung heavy, pressing down on us with the weight of unspoken thoughts. His eyes held mine for a moment longer, searching, before he gave that small nod— an acceptance, a retreat.

"Alright," Elias said softly, his voice carrying a hint of resignation as he reached out to take the bag from me. "Thanks for this. I'll see you around, Lydia." His fingers brushed against mine, a fleeting contact that sparked an involuntary shiver down my spine. The warmth of his touch seemed at odds with the coolness of our exchange, and I quickly withdrew my hand as if scalded by the brief intimacy.

"Of course," I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper. I watched him turn, noting the graceful way he navigated the space between us, leaving an invisible trail in his wake that tugged at something deep within me. As Elias walked out, the bell above the door sang its departure melody, a bittersweet chime that echoed through the suddenly too quiet store. I stood motionless for a heartbeat, taking in the emptiness he left behind. Then, with a slow exhalation, I allowed my shoulders to sag, releasing a tension I hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. I turned back to the counter, my movements automatic as I straightened the display, trying to align the chaos of my thoughts with the order of my surroundings.

The day would go on, and so would I, but the remnants of our conversation clung to me— a silent reminder that some choices were heavier than they appeared.

Chapter Five

Ileaned against the counter, my fingers tracing the wood grain as if it could somehow anchor me. Elias had noticed. And worse, he cared. The idea unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. His concern, genuine and unasked for, felt like an intrusion into the carefully constructed fortress around my life.

I tried to shake off the encounter, to dismiss the careful way he'd observed me, but it stayed in the back of my head…not wanting to leave. Determined to refocus on the day's tasks, I reached for a stack of receipts that needed filing— a mundane task to distract me from my own thoughts. The bell above the door sang out again, a sound that normally brought a sense of contentment. Today, however, my heart gave an involuntary start, a flutter of nerves that irked me. Turning, I braced myself for another round of emotional gymnastics, only to see Mrs. Carter, one of my regulars, step inside with her usual unhurried pace.

"Lydia, dear," she called out, her voice carrying the familiar lilt of long held habits. "The sun has decided to grace us today, hasn't it?" Her smile was as warm as the rays filtering through the front windows, her presence a comforting constant in my otherwise turbulent morning.

"Indeed, it has," I replied, grateful for the return to routine, to interactions that required no emotional tightrope walking. Mrs. Carter always had a project or two in mind, her artistic pursuits as much a part of the shop's atmosphere as the paint on the shelves.

“How's your latest piece coming along?" There was a lilt in my voice, genuine interest that surfaced easily around the topic of art. For a moment, I could almost forget the burning of my skin where the cream was against my scent gland…and the words Eliias had said.

Mrs. Carter’s eyes lit up, a spark that defied her age, and in that instant, I saw not just a customer, but a kindred spirit— one who found solace in strokes of charcoal and sweeps of paint, much as I did.

"Slow as always," she confessed, and I saw her eyes crinkle at the corners, the way they did when she unearthed some small joy from the layers of everyday life. "But that’s how I like it. Keeps me busy."

I nodded, understanding the satisfaction of letting art unfurl at its own pace. Our conversation meandered through topics of texture and technique, a dance of words I knew well. But soon enough, the cadence slowed, and she gathered her purchases with a contented sigh. She always stayed for thirty minutes, and not a second more. It was just how she was.

"Take care, Lydia," Mrs. Carter said, offering me one last smile before the bell above the door heralded her departure.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Carter," I called after her, my voice softer than the lingering chime. The door closed behind her, and I was aloneagain, engulfed in a quiet that seemed louder now. Now that I was alone, I was left with my thoughts... and today was not a good day to be left alone with them. I turned to head toward the back room, where restocking awaited, but the sharp trill of my phone cut through the stillness. It was a jarring note, an intrusion on the carefully curated calm of my shop. I hesitated for a heartbeat, my gaze drawn to the small screen where Avery's name flashed like a beacon. A sigh escaped me, a tiny surrender before my fingers curled around the device, lifting it to my ear.

"Hey," I murmured, the word a soft exhale as I pressed the phone closer, bracing for the inevitable warmth that Avery's presence brought, even from miles away. The phone's weight seemed to grow in my hand, the buzz of Avery's voice a stark contrast to the quiet of the shop. There was an undercurrent of concern threading through her words, a familiarity with my moods that left me feeling exposed.

"Hey yourself," she replied, the warmth in her tone a gentle probe. "You sound weird. Did something happen?" I could almost see her, head tilted, eyes narrowed in that knowing way of hers that saw through pretenses. My gaze drifted, toward the door, to the patch of sunlight where Elias had lingered— a phantom presence in the empty space.

"No, just…" I started, my voice trailing off as I fumbled for something reassuring, something normal. "A long morning." My fingers brushed against the counter's edge, seeking the solidity of reality, grasping for the steadiness I usually found in the simple act of existing within these four walls.

"Uh-huh. You never could lie to me. What’s going on?" Avery's voice was sharp, knowing that she would drive all the way here if she had to. I shook my head at her knowing how protective she could be.

"Elias came into the store... the guy from the farmers market that I told you about," I confessed, finally allowing the name totumble out, heavy with implications I wasn't ready to face. My fingers traced the rim of an empty paint can I had repurposed as a pen holder, seeking comfort in the familiar texture, while my heart beat an erratic rhythm.

“That’s a good thing right? Making a friend?” She asked, and I could hear the confusion in her voice.

My grip on the phone tightened, the faint creak of the plastic case a sharp note in the quiet shop. "He— he noticed my scent glands," I murmured, the words hesitant. A shiver traced the line of my spine as I recalled the way Elias's gaze had lingered on the tender skin of my neck. "They are a bit red, irritated. He looked... concerned." The paint-flecked fingertips of my free hand drifted unconsciously to the spot he'd seen, feeling the rawness beneath the surface. I could still sense the ghost of his attention there, a strange warmth that contradicted the coolness of the room.

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